


Losing Purpose

by curadhstark, ru17



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Come Swallowing, Comeplay, Daddy Kink, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Deepthroating, Dirty Talk, Father/Son Incest, M/M, Masturbation, Non-Consensual Blow Jobs, Non-Consensual Oral Sex, Non-Consensual Voyeurism, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sexual Coercion, Verbal Humiliation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-06
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:47:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26327365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/curadhstark/pseuds/curadhstark, https://archiveofourown.org/users/ru17/pseuds/ru17
Summary: Peter's biggest fantasy turns into his worst nightmare at the hands of Quentin Beck, his babysitter for the weekend.It'll all be over, though, when his Dad gets home. Right?
Relationships: Peter Parker/Tony Stark, Quentin Beck/Peter Parker, Quentin Beck/Tony Stark
Comments: 25
Kudos: 286





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> This is an UNFINISHED collab between myself and Ru, so there's currently no ending. We just thought we would upload what we'd written for people to enjoy.
> 
> Also, it's extremely dark. It's so dead dove that the bird is nothing but bones. Please read the warnings and take them seriously, and if the subject matter concerns you then DO NOT READ.

When Peter’s dad had told him that he was going away for a few days, the boy had barely batted an eyelid. Tony Stark was the CEO and face of Stark Industries, it would only make sense that he would be called away to all corners of the world in the name of business.

What he _had_ batted an eyelid at, however (and rather furiously, in fact), was his dad’s decision to have someone from the company _babysit_ him for those few days.

“You remember Quentin, don’t you? He works in R&D, the beardy one with the blue eyes? I’ve definitely introduced you before.” Tony rambled as the two of them tucked into their dinner for that evening, sat opposite each other at their kitchen counter.

Peter _had_ met Quentin, when his dad had insisted on parading him around some of the lower floors of the tower that they lived in to meet his employees. The man was… well, he was attractive in Peter’s mind, with blue eyes that had the hue of stormy oceans, and a wide smile that Peter couldn’t help but emulate. Quentin’s gaze had seemed to follow the boy around the room, no matter who he was talking to or how many times he looked over in the man’s direction, expecting him to look away.

It didn’t matter how attractive he was though, Peter thought. The fact that his dad thought he needed a babysitter at the age of 15 was an outrage, and he told his dad as much as he stabbed into another piece of broccoli with his fork.

“I mean - come on, dad! You’re gonna be gone for what, three days? I can handle myself! I’m _fifteen_!” he argued.

His frustration was shrugged at by his dad. “Exactly. It’s only for three days. You won’t even notice that Quentin’s here. Besides, it’ll be a good opportunity for you to get to know each other. You’re always talking about wanting to work at SI for a little while, maybe you can cajole him into taking you under his wing. Just ‘cause you’re my son doesn’t mean I’m gonna let you have an easy ride.”

Peter rolled his eyes, and tried to ignore the hurt feeling that was unfurling in his chest.

If he was being completely honest, his frustration wasn’t entirely directed at the fact that he had to be babysat for a few days. It was at the fact that his dad even had to leave at all.

He hated when his dad spent his time working, but he hated the reason why even more.

Hated that late at night, his mind always turned to how his dad looked when coming out of the shower, or in his wife-beater tops working in his workshop, or in his three-piece suits getting ready for yet another gala. Hated how those thoughts resulted in one fist shoved down his sweatpants jerking roughly at his cock, while the other remained lodged firmly in his mouth to prevent the very subject of his dirtiest fantasies overhearing him through the wall.

Hated it, hated it, hated it.

But it wasn’t enough to make him stop. Wasn’t enough to make him feel guilty either, guilt had stopped being part of the equation a while ago.

His argument with his dad about the whole babysitting debacle turned out to be for nothing, when that Thursday evening the elevator to their penthouse floor chimed, and Quentin stepped out with a charming smile. He and Tony had a brief conversation in the living room while Peter stood in the hallway, grumpy about the entire situation.

“Thanks for doing this,” Tony said as Happy, his driver, loaded his suitcase into the elevator. “I’ll be home Sunday evening.”

“It’s no trouble,” Quentin said. Peter felt his cheeks burn as the man looked over to him and stared. “I’m sure he’ll be very well-behaved.”

“He usually is,” Tony agreed, smirking and eyeing Peter over the rim of his tinted sunglasses. “But if he’s not, you have my permission to teach him a lesson. Sometimes kids need a little tough love.”

Quentin returned his dad’s smirk, and Peter felt his humiliated flush surge through his face, spreading down his shoulders and chest. They were talking about him like he wasn’t even there. Why was his dad always so embarrassing?

“I’m not gonna misbehave,” he grumbled quietly, resisting the urge to cross his arms like a petulant child. His dad already treated him like a kid – he didn’t need to prove his point by acting like one.

Smiling, his dad reached over and ruffled his hair. “I’m sure you won’t.” He pulled him into a half-hug, his arm strong and warm as it wrapped around Peter’s shoulders. “You’re going to be a good boy for Quentin, aren’t you?”

Peter blinked up at Quentin from underneath his dad’s arm, and suddenly felt trapped under that piercing, steel-blue gaze. No one had ever stared at him that intensely before. He swallowed, not burrowing into his dad’s side, despite wanting to. “Yes sir.”

–

The rest of the night was uneventful, if a little weird. Peter didn’t really know who was supposed to be babysitting who here, because while, yeah, Quentin made dinner and checked to make sure Peter was doing his homework, he was also a guest in their penthouse. Peter sort of felt obligated to show him around and keep him company, since leaving him alone in their apartment felt sort of rude. He didn’t know why his dad didn’t just ask Uncle Rhodey or Steve or Bruce to stay with him; at least they had been in their house before. They must’ve all been busy, he figured. That was the only reason that made sense.

Quentin made small talk with him while he cooked dinner as Peter finished his homework at the dining table. It was a little awkward at times, Quentin was kind of quiet and serious, or at least he seemed so, and Peter kept rambling for no other reason than to fill the long stretches of silence between each question the man asked him, apparently determined to get to know him.

Peter didn’t really get much out of him in return. Any question he asked was quickly and bluntly answered, and then flipped around on him, like Quentin didn’t want to talk about himself more than absolutely necessary. That pattern persisted all through dinner and the clean-up afterwards, until Peter had completely run out of things to ramble about (to a stranger, at least) and invited the other man to watch TV in the living room.

He only lasted about half an hour before he made his escape. He felt kind of bad – Quentin was nice, and was obviously just a guy trying to do a favor for his boss, but this whole thing was weird and awkward and Peter didn’t know how much longer he could stand sitting next to a guy he didn’t know who’d been inexplicably burdened with maintaining his wellbeing.

“I think I’m gonna head to bed,” he said quietly, in case Quentin was deeply invested in the cooking show they’d been watching. But when he looked up, the man was staring at him again, like he had when his dad had left. That long, uninterrupted gaze. Like he was a telepath trying to implant his thoughts directly into Peter’s head. “Um…have a good night, Mr. Beck.”

“You too, Peter.”

His face didn’t change as he said it. Peter rubbed his arm to try and get rid of the goosebumps that’d broken out over his skin, smiling awkwardly as he waved goodnight and left the room.

He collapsed onto his bed as soon as his door clicked shut. What a weird day. He couldn’t help but think of his dad, probably still on the plane, or maybe already landing at whichever destination of his was first. It was dumb that he already missed him. Teenagers probably weren’t supposed to like spending as much time with their parents as Peter did, but he couldn’t help it. His dad could be kind of a jerk sometimes, but even that felt sort of good, in a way.

His eyes slipped closed. He thought of his dad, that morning, as he was finishing up his last-minute packing. Walking through the penthouse in his tanktop and sweats, shouting for Peter to help him find his Led Zeppelin tee, having no idea that it was stuffed underneath Peter’s pillow.

He knew how much his dad loved that shirt, so he’d given it back eventually, pretending he found it in the laundry room, like his dad just hadn’t looked hard enough. He wished he hadn’t now, though. He wished he’d just lied and said he didn’t know where it was. Now, staring up at the dark ceiling of his bedroom, he felt the absence of his dad’s shirt under his pillow almost as much as he felt his dad’s absence entirely.

It was easier to fall asleep when he could catch the hint of his dad’s scent, like they were still sleeping in the same bed like they used to, when Peter was little. It was a habit he never grew out of. Other kids probably did a long time ago, but then again, other kids probably didn’t have feelings for their dads the way Peter did.

Sighing, he curled up on his side and waited until he heard footsteps coming down the hallway, and the soft click of the guest bedroom door closing, signalling Quentin had gone to bed. He waited a little while longer, then silently crept out of bed, walking on the tips of his toes like he was sneaking out.

Instead, he crept past the guest bedroom, all the way down the hallway, until he got to the master bedroom. He was careful to move as quietly as possible as he pushed the door open and slipped inside, and instantly felt a little safer, a little calmer as he caught the lingering scent of his dad’s cologne.

Peter smiled to himself and flopped onto the large bed, fully intending to just curl up and go to sleep, when he pressed his face into his dad’s pillow and was hit with that unique, familiar smell that never failed to stir him up in the worst way. He inhaled deeply as he stretched out on the king-sized bed, his face buried in his dad’s pillows as he hugged them.

His dick was already half-hard and pressing deliciously between his body and the bed. His dad’s scent did that to him – made him want things, think about things he shouldn’t. It was his darkest secret. This was something he could only get away with when he was home alone, skipping school while his dad was at work or out of town.

Although, he usually didn’t have a babysitter two rooms away when he did.

Biting his lip to keep quiet, Peter rolled his hips against the mattress and breathed deeply. He could imagine his dad was here, when he closed his eyes and breathed in his scent. He could pretend he was pressing his face into his dad’s broad, firm chest and smelling his cologne straight from his body, the way he did every time they hugged.

But now, he could also imagine trailing his hand under his Dad’s shirt, tracing shy fingertips over his defined abs. He could picture his dad’s hands on his body, so much bigger than his own, with his wide palms and long, thick fingers. He could imagine how his dad’s facial hair would feel, scraping the skin of his neck, brushing against his cheek as he kissed him.

Moaning, Peter arched his back, pressing the hard line of his dick a little harder against his dad’s pillow. God, it was so much more real in his dad’s room, assaulted on all sides by his scent, surrounded by everything he owned. It was like he was really here, letting Peter rut against his leg like a dog in heat. He shuddered at the thought, his cock twitching in his boxers at the idea of his dad calling him out for it, but not stopping him. He didn’t know why the idea of his dad degrading him was making him feel so dizzy and hot, but it was. Just picturing that smirk on his dad’s face, his voice mocking and stern as he gazed at him and asked –

“What are you doing, Peter?”

Yelping, Peter flung himself off of his dad’s pillow, rolling onto his side and quailing under the heavy, piercing gaze of his babysitter.


	2. Chapter Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: this is where the fic quite literally plummets into dead dove material, and it will only get worse from here. read the tags carefully, and proceed with caution. stay safe x

Quentin stood in the doorway of the bedroom, leaning against it with his arms crossed like he’d been there for some time. The thought of that made Peter pale. Oh God, what if Quentin had been watching him the entire time and Peter had been too busy being disgusting to notice? Quentin was going to tell his dad and then his dad would get so angry at him and then -

“I’m only gonna ask this one more time, Peter.  _ What were you doing? _ ”

Quentin’s voice sounded angry, but his gaze… his gaze frightened Peter more than anything. It was piercing, like it could see right through him, but there was a new mix of emotions in those eyes that Peter hadn’t seen properly before. For a moment it looked like hunger, but the boy shook his head to take his thoughts away from that and try to focus on answering the question.

“I- It’s- Uh…” Peter’s mouth felt dry and his tongue felt heavy, like he was trying to speak a foreign language. For each second that he couldn’t answer, Quentin’s gaze only got sharper and more vicious, and Peter found himself subconsciously moving backwards on the bed to try and put more distance between the two of them.

With a quick push off the doorframe, Quentin took a few steps into the bedroom and let the door swing shut behind him. The click of the doorlatch into the frame only matched the click of Peter’s glottis as he swallowed, realising that he had lost his only chance of running without an explanation. 

“How about I tell you what I  _ think _ you were doing, and you can tell me if I’m wrong, hm? Does that sound like a good place to start?” Quentin’s condescending voice matched Peter’s dad’s almost perfectly, and the boy had to stifle a whimper at how his cock twitched when he recognized that fact. Now, for the first time since Quentin had announced his presence, Peter was so,  _ so _ glad that he was still wearing his boxers.

When Peter didn’t give an answer, still shell-shocked and cowering at the head of the king-sized bed, Quentin continued further into the room. “I think…you were missing your Daddy just a little too much, so you came in here to satiate yourself. I think you wanted to feel closer to him, closer than he would ever allow in person, so you decided to rut against one of his pillows like a bitch in heat. Am I close, Peter?”

The rush of cold through the boy’s body somehow loosened his tongue, and he dared to speak. “N-No. You’re wrong, I wasn’t - I wasn’t doing that.”

“Oh, you  _ weren’t _ ?” Quentin asked exaggeratedly, his hand smoothly sliding into the pocket of his jeans. “Then care to explain what this is?”

And with that, he brought out his cellphone (a Stark Industries handout, Peter recognized) and held it up for Peter to see. There, the boy watched… himself, doing exactly as Quentin described: rutting against his father’s pillow with his back to the camera, lost in endorphins and his small fists gripping tightly to the bedsheets as he tried to breathe in his dad’s scent.

“Wh-What the fuck! D-Delete that, why would you - ” For the first time, Peter reached out to try and snatch the phone off his babysitter, but Quentin held it out of his reach and pushed his other hand out to stop Peter from coming any closer.

“Of course you want me to delete it, Peter. God only knows what would happen if I took this to your father, right? He wouldn’t like what he saw, would he, his only son being a disgusting little pervert in his bed.”

Peter spluttered, shocked for words, but tried again. “Th-That’s child pornography! You can’t r-record stuff like that, that’s illegal!”

“Maybe,” Quentin shrugged, “but this scenario ends worse for you than it does for me. You love your dad, don’t you? Well, I mean… that’s obvious; but if your dad ever saw this? Can you imagine how badly that would end for you? He’d kick you out, Peter. You’d be out on your ass before you could say ‘incest’. And then what? No home, no money, no food, no dad. What then?”

Peter hadn’t noticed the tears that were brimming in his eyes until they spilled over and slid down his cheeks, forcing him to look at Quentin through a watery veneer.

“Oh, there, there…” Quentin cooed, taking those last few steps forward to take a seat on Tony’s bed. Peter flinched as Quentin reached forward to touch him, but all the man did was cup his face and wipe away the tears that were streaking his cheeks. “It’s alright, it’s not the end of the world.”

“Wh-Why? You’re g-gonna show that to my dad!” Peter whimpered, his body trembling as he held terrified eye-contact with his babysitter.

“Oh, I don’t  _ have _ to. This could just be our little secret, Pete. Your Daddy never has to find out about any of this. That is, if you make keeping this secret worth my while, hm?”

Peter’s blood ran cold at that, and he furrowed his brow in confusion. “Your - your  _ while _ ?”

Quentin’s face stretched into a lazy smirk, one not unlike the face he had when talking to Peter’s dad just that afternoon. “Yeah, my while. Let’s start off easy, shall we? It was pretty rude of me to interrupt you during your… alone time, so why don’t you pick up where you left off?”

This was like a nightmare, Peter thought to himself. No, this was worse than a nightmare. Nightmares ended when you woke up, but Peter was wide awake and this was still happening. With courage he didn’t know he had, the boy shook his head at Quentin’s request. “N-No.”

“No?” The babysitter’s face didn’t change from his leering smile, and his gaze continued to pierce right through Peter as he held up his phone once more. “You’re aware that with one button press, I can send this little video straight to your dad? You won’t even need to wait until he gets back to have your ass out on the street. Your choice, Petey-pie.”

_ Petey-pie _ . His dad always called him that as a kid, and the use of it now made a lump form in Peter’s throat. “Please - please don’t.”

“Then turn back onto your stomach, sweetheart. This is only going to be as difficult as you want to make it.” Quentin ordered, his eyes glinting as Peter shakily turned back onto his stomach with his thighs straddling the edge of his dad’s pillow. The feeling of it brought life back to his erection, which had flagged massively when Quentin had come into the room. He couldn’t move his hips, however; could barely breathe when he knew that his babysitter was watching him so intently.

“What’s wrong, Pete?” the man asked, fake concern dripping from his voice. “You had no problem fucking that pillow earlier like a dog, I thought you would’ve _ liked _ having an audience for this.” He drawled, and Peter could hear shuffling as the man got up and walked around to where Peter’s head was. A large, calloused hand gripped his chin and pulled it upwards so that they made eye contact, and Peter continued to tremble in the man’s grasp.

“I know you’d like it if your Daddy was watching, huh? Bet that’s what you want, your own father watching you hump a pillow like a bitch in heat. That’s so perverted, Peter. Dirty little pervert, I bet you want your Daddy here talking you through it. Well, he’s not here now, but I am, so I’ll talk you through it. Start moving your hips, nice ‘n gentle for me… that’s it, sweetheart…”

Peter whimpered pathetically as his hips began to move of their own volition, rocking his erection back and forth against the fabric of the pillow. His entire body was trembling with nerves, but the grip around his chin only tightened to keep his head up and his eyes on Quentin. 

“You looked so small in his arms earlier, baby. Have you ever noticed that? Noticed how big your Daddy is compared to you? I bet if he fucked you, he wouldn’t even need to put much effort into bouncing you on his cock… you could be his little fleshlight, hm? Is that what you think about?”

He couldn’t help the watery moan that ripped its way from his throat at those words, or the way his cock twitched in his boxers, completely separate from the rest of his body and loving every word Quentin was saying.

Peter had thought about it before, sometimes. His dad even made comments, occasionally – (“Jeez, Pete, I don’t know if that growth spurt I’ve been promising you is ever actually gonna hit. You might just stay little forever, at this rate.”) – and while, yeah, it was always super embarrassing, Peter couldn’t deny that he was kind of glad about it too, especially when his dad would hug him and there wouldn’t be anything to focus on except how big their size difference was. His dad wasn’t the biggest guy on the planet, but compared to Peter, he’d always been larger than life.

And Quentin was even bigger than that. Half a foot taller than his dad and at least fifty pounds heavier, muscular and strong in a way Peter hadn’t found intimidating until this very moment, when he realized that Quentin didn’t need to blackmail him to get what he wanted. Peter would be no match for him at all, if he tried to force him.

And his dad had left Peter with him, alone, for the next three days.

“You zonin’ out on me, Pete?” Quentin asked, snapping Peter from his thoughts before he could spiral into a full-blown panic attack. “I thought I told you to keep those little hips moving. Didn’t I?”

Nodding, Peter took a shaky breath and started rocking his hips again, whimpering at the wet slide of his dick inside his precome-slicked boxers. Quentin smiled at him, like he could tell what a mess Peter was making, and moved his hand up to gently run through his hair. “Poor baby. You just need someone to tell you what to do, don’t you?”

Hot tears seared his skin as they rolled down his cheeks. He couldn’t understand why he was still hard, he hated this. He hated the way Quentin was looking at him, hated the things he was saying, hated that his darkest secret had been uncovered by this total stranger who was…who was now raping him.

Most of all, he hated that there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it.

Quentin’s hand tightened to a painful grip in his hair, and Peter winced, the rhythm of his hips stuttering as the man shook him by the head a little too roughly. “I asked you a question, Peter. I expect you to answer me when I ask you something. I have to say, you’re not exactly convincing me that you don’t want your dad to find out what a dirty little pervert his son is.”

Peter sobbed, but didn’t dare let his hips stop. He stared up at Quentin through the blur of his tears, and the man’s harsh expression softened, only somewhat.

“I’ll give you one more chance,” he said, his grip relaxing in Peter’s hair. “You just need someone to tell you what to do. Don’t you, Peter?”

“Yes,” Peter said right away, then, when Quentin raised an eyebrow at him, quickly added, “Please – please tell me what to do, Mr. Beck.”

“Happy to, sweetheart,” the man said, smirking condescendingly down at him. Peter felt his face burning all the way to the tips of his ears. “Spread your legs a little bit more. There, good. Just like that. Roll your hips when you thrust – just like if your Daddy was fucking you. You think about that a lot, Pete? Your Daddy bending you over just like this, taking you from behind?”

He didn’t know which was worse: the fact that every word Quentin was saying was making his cock twitch happily in his boxers, or that the new angle the man coaxed him into had him barreling towards coming all over his dad’s pillow. “Y-yes,” he confessed shamefully, whining as Quentin’s large hand stroked through his hair, just like his dad always did, scratching his scalp pleasurably. “I – I think about it.”

“I bet you do, Pete. I bet you touch your naughty little cock while picturing your Daddy making you into his happy little fucktoy. Is that what you want, baby? For your Daddy to use you however he wants, whenever he wants? For him to make you into his helpless plaything with no purpose besides worshipping his cock?”

“Stop – ” Peter cried, not knowing if he was begging Quentin or himself, but it was too late either way: the bed creaked loudly as he rocked against his dad’s pillow as hard as he could, moaning loud and shameful as his orgasm shuddered through his whole body. His dick jerked and spilled hot and sticky inside of his boxers, seeping through the material and staining his dad’s silk pillowcase beneath him.

“There you go,” Quentin murmured, sounding sweeter and kinder than he had all day. “That’s it, sweetheart, let yourself feel good.”

Peter’s whole body burned, all the way down to his ankles. He wanted to collapse. He wanted to curl up into a tight little ball too small for Quentin to be able to touch him ever again, where he wouldn’t have to see or acknowledge anything that had happened in the last ten minutes. Instead, Quentin guided him back by the hand in his hair, until he was sitting on his heels, his dad’s wet, ruined pillow laying debauched between his knees.

Tears fell unbidden from his eyes as he was forced to stare at it. What had he done? It was one thing to smell his dad’s t-shirt while touching himself, or do it in his dad’s bed while he wasn’t home, but this was so much worse. He’d defiled his dad’s property. What would the man say if he found out?

If Peter didn’t do whatever Quentin said, he’d be forced to learn the answer.

A startled yelp leapt from his throat as Quentin suddenly pressed his face down onto his dad’s pillow, rubbing his cheek against the damp spot where his jizz hadn’t even soaked into the fabric yet.

“Look at the mess you’ve made, you naughty boy,” Quentin said, as if he wasn’t the reason Peter had come all over his dad’s pillow in the first place. “What was it your dad said earlier, Pete? Oh, yes. He gave me permission to teach you a lesson if you misbehaved, didn’t he?”

Peter whined as his face was rubbed viciously into the cooling pool of come, cringing as it spread across his face and neck, clumping in his hair, catching on his bottom lip.

“I think I should have you clean this mess up, for starters. That sounds fair, don’t you think?”

He winced as the man’s hair tightened threateningly in his hair, and quickly said, “Yes sir.”

“Good boy.” Quentin lifted his head, slightly, until he was staring at the dark come-stain his face had just smeared all over the expensive fabric. “Well? Get to it, Peter.”

Peter’s face was being held too far down for him to turn and look at the other man, so all he could do was meekly ask, “With…with what? I – it’ll need to be washed, if you let me up I can go get – ”

“There’s no need for that,” Quentin said, patiently, like Peter was a fussy child he was trying to teach. “Not when you could be putting that pretty little mouth to use instead.”

Peter balked, but the hand in his hair kept him right where he was, mere inches from his own come and no sign he’d be going anywhere soon. He tried to shake his head, tried to pull away from the mess, but the man pushed his face harder against the damp pillow and swatted him with his other hand, right on the center of his ass. “Ow!”

“You’re only making this harder on yourself, kid,” Quentin said calmly. Peter clenched his teeth together to stop himself from snapping back like he wanted to. He hated this man. “Now open up and get to work, or I’ll send your dad a photo of the mess you’ve made right after I’ve sent him the video.”

Sobbing, Peter screwed his eyes shut and slowly opened his mouth, shyly poking his tongue out before running it over the soiled fabric. It was disgusting, bitter and cold and slimy and thick, but he couldn’t stop, not unless he wanted Quentin to make his dad hate him forever.

He quickly and obediently licked the pillowcase clean, sucking the last remnants of his come off the soaked material when his tongue couldn’t hold it all, and when he finished, the man gently coaxed him back up onto his knees and ruffled his hair, rewarding him like a dog who’d just performed a trick.

“Good boy, Peter.” Quentin’s mocking, patronizing tone made his hands ball up into fists, but the unmistakable clink of a belt being pulled open quickly chased his anger away. “Now that you’ve gotten yours, how about I get mine?”

“Y-Yours?” 

Oh God, please no.


	3. Chapter Three

Peter’s eyes zeroed in on Quentin’s large hand, deftly unbuckling his belt and pulling it away from his jeans. The boy tried to reach back and grab onto his babysitter’s wrist, to stop him from going any further, but the tightening grip of Quentin’s other hand in his hair made him wince and pull his hand back.

“Please- Please, no, I’ve never- I’ve never done this!”

That made Quentin slow down, just a small bit, as he unzipped his jeans and unbuttoned his fly. “You’ve never done this before, Pete? Oh, that’s precious… never even _seen_ a dick, yet fantasises about being his Daddy’s little cockslut? How sweet.”

As Quentin began pushing the waistband of his jeans down, Peter finally tried to make a getaway. He didn’t get far though, before his babysitter was wrestling him down onto his back on the mattress. One hand clamped itself down on his neck, the other on his waist, and Quentin quickly straddled the boy with his knees on either side of Peter’s shoulders, boxing him in. Quentin sat right on the centre of the boy’s chest, and no matter how hard Peter tried to squirm and struggle beneath him, thick thighs kept him caged in and stuck to the bed. 

The boy felt like he couldn’t breathe, trapped under Quentin’s weight as the man shucked down the waistband of his trousers and unbuttoned the fly of his boxers. Even without taking it out of his underwear, Peter could see the huge tent that Quentin’s erect cock made against the fabric, and it made the boy’s eyes widen in pure terror. It seemed to be huge, and Quentin wasted no time in pulling his cock out from his underwear and holding it inches from Peter’s face. 

“I’ll be honest, Petey-pie, I’m surprised you _are_ a virgin. I find it hard to believe that the dumb jocks at your school don’t use you as a little come-dump, I mean, you have the pretty face for it.”

Peter couldn’t believe what he was hearing. It was true that he was a virgin; he had never even kissed somebody, let alone touch them sexually before. Quentin’s claims that he was a slut, however, made the boy’s blood boil and his cock twitch in equal measures. He tried once more to shake the babysitter off of him, but it was no use. 

“So, here’s what we’re gonna do. We both know your dad, ever the perfectionist. Do you think he’d be happy with a cockslut who can’t even suck cock? Answer me, Peter.” Quentin leered, inching a little closer with his dick in his hand, now mere centimetres away from Peter’s lips.

“N-No, Mr. Beck.”

“Of course not. So, aren’t you the lucky one for having me here to help you practice? We’ll have you taking dick like a pro, and then maybe I’ll think about sharing you with your Daddy.”

Peter’s heart leapt into his throat as Quentin’s other hand came down to thread itself through Peter’s hair, securing a tight grip around the back of his head and pressing forward, so that the blunt head of Quentin’s cock was bumping against the boy’s lips.

“Open wide, Petey-pie…”

And with that, Peter had no choice but to let his jaw go slack and Quentin’s cock slide over his tongue and into his mouth. The action had both of them making noise at the same time, Quentin a satisfied groan and Peter a frightened whimper as he was fed the babysitter’s cock inch by inch.

“Jeeeesus… fuck, that feels good. You sure you’ve never done this before?” Quentin hissed, cradling the back of Peter’s head in one palm and holding onto the base of his dick with the other as he let his cock sit on the boy’s tongue.

Peter tried to say ‘no’, but all that came out was a garbled whimper. His tongue laid flat in his mouth, but he could taste each inch of the man’s cock as it slid down towards his throat. Quentin was leaking precome into his mouth, and the bitter, salty taste of it was a harsh reminder of what he was doing, what he was allowing Quentin to do to him. Brand new tears formed in the corners of the boy’s eyes, and no matter how hard he tried to blink them away they continued to fall down his face.

“Awh, baby, I know. I know you wanted to save this first time for your Daddy, I bet you think your Daddy doesn’t want a comeslut who’s already been used.” Quentin’s thumb wiped away Peter’s tears again, but it made little difference as the boy began to sob around the cock in his mouth. “I mean, you’d be right of course, but that’s the fun part. I’ll train you to use this hole, but I’ll leave your other hole alone. That way, your Daddy can be the first person to pop your little cherry. How’s that, baby? Sound good?”

As much as Peter knew that his dad taking his virginity was the primary focus of his night-time fantasies, the actual threat of it happening under Quentin’s manipulation sounded horrifying. He could see it in his mind’s eye: him, on his dad’s bed lying on his stomach with Tony preparing to sink his cock into his ass, while Quentin held him down to stop him squirming. It made Peter’s skin crawl, but it was also what he secretly desired most, to have his dad fuck him, and so when his spent dick twitched against his thigh the boy whined.

“Actually, I think you need to _thank_ me, Pete. Thank me for being kind enough, being _generous_ enough to let your Daddy be the first to properly fuck you when I could very easily have you all to myself. I definitely thought about it, keeping you as my fucktoy, but… it would be so much more delicious to see you under your dad. So go ahead, thank me for being so nice, Peter.”

Before Peter could react, the warm weight of Quentin’s cock was being drawn out of his mouth with a small string of spit connecting the cockhead and Peter’s lips. The boy spluttered, taking deep breaths of air like he had just gone scuba-diving without a tank, but the tightened grip in his hair reminded him why he was given the chance to breathe through his mouth.

“Th- Thank you, Mis-Mister Beck. Thank you fuh- for being so generous.”

If the ‘thank you’ didn’t sound genuine enough, Quentin didn’t comment (to Peter’s relief). Instead, he simply smiled once more and slowly jerked his cock with his other hand. “Good boy,” he drawled, his hand moving lazily up and down his shaft, slick with Peter’s spit and his own precome. “Good boys who do what they’re told get to choose between a facial and getting creampied in the mouth, so what’s it gonna be, Pete? You want me to come all over your pretty little face, or do you wanna swallow it?”

Oh _God._ Peter snapped his wet eyes shut and turned his face away, sobbing helplessly. He didn’t want either. He wanted Quentin to get off of him and let him go and never, ever come within five-hundred feet of him again.

But if he said that, he’d lose his dad.

So instead, Peter kept his eyes firmly shut, as if Quentin had a loaded gun pointed between them, and mumbled, “F-face.”

“What was that? Gonna have to speak up, sweetheart.”

“I – I said face,” Peter said, a little louder, cracking one eye open and peering up at his babysitter in fright. The man was smirking down at him, but something dark and foreboding in his steel-blue eyes made every inch of Peter’s body tremble in dread.

“If you want me to come all over your pretty face, you’re gonna have to ask me nicely, first.”

“I – what? No,” he began to protest, but the sight of Quentin narrowing his eyes into a displeased glare quickly had him changing his tone, “ – I can’t, that’s…please don’t make me do that. Please, Mr. Beck.”

“How can I not, baby? Listen to how pretty you sound when you beg.” The man’s smile almost seemed fond, in a really screwed up, terrifying sort of way. “Do it just like that. Say please and I’ll let you take my come-shot right in the face.”

Whimpering, Peter closed his eyes and started to say, “Please—”

“Look at me when you’re begging for my come,” Quentin interrupted him, much more harshly than he’d spoken only moments ago.

Peter swallowed the lump of anxiety in his throat and forced his eyes open, his vision distorted by his tears as he gazed up at his babysitter. “Please…come on my face.”

Quentin almost looked like he wanted to laugh, and Peter hated him more in that moment than all the moments leading up to it combined. “You can do better than that. _Beg_ me, Peter. Show me exactly how bad you want me to come on your face.”

His fingernails left blunt, crescent-moon shaped indentations in the older man’s skin as he dug his nails into the meat of Quentin’s thighs. If it hurt, Quentin didn’t comment on it. He didn’t seem to even notice. “Please,” he tried again, feeling a fresh stream of hot tears sear down both his cheeks, “please, Mr. Beck, please c-cum on my face. I-I want – I want it. Please.”

The man’s face softened, like by some miracle, he was finally having mercy on him. “Okay, sweetheart,” he cooed, stroking himself faster, his grip tightening. “Tilt your head back a little, there you go. Good boy. Keep those pretty eyes on me – fuck, kid, you were just _made_ for this, look at you – alright, now. Open your mouth. Yeah…that’s it. There you go, c’mon kid, tongue out. _Good boy._ ”

Peter’s stomach rolled. He hated this, he wanted to puke, he wanted to _die –_ but he also just wanted this whole thing to be over, and the sooner Quentin finished, the sooner it would be.

So he let the fight leave him, tilted his head back and opened his mouth, like the man asked. Stuck his tongue out like a dog and waited, keeping his tearful gaze locked on Quentin’s dark face, just like the man ordered him to. Drops of precum rained down on him as Quentin got closer and closer to coming, his hand moving faster and less coordinated. Peter tried his best not to cringe, even though every hot, wet splash of precum on his face made his stomach want to heave.

“Here it comes, sweetheart,” Quentin murmured, his voice thick and deep like he was on the verge of growling. “Keep that pretty mouth open, wanna give you a good taste, you earned it. Oh – _fuck,_ Peter – ”

He couldn’t help it, he clenched his eyes shut as the first rope of cum shot from the wide, wet tip of Quentin’s dick and drenched his face, whining as the thick, warm liquid spattered across his closed eyelids, his cheeks, the bridge of his nose. Quentin apparently didn’t like that Peter had disobeyed him, because he grabbed a sharp handful of his hair and yanked his head forwards, burying his dick inside Peter’s mouth, letting the rest of his cum shoot right into the back of his throat.

“Take it,” he hissed, holding Peter effortlessly with one hand, keeping him impaled on the first half of his long, thick cock. “Swallow it all up, baby boy. Make sure you get a good taste. It might be the last hot meal you have for a while.”

Peter clawed at the man’s thighs, his airways cut off and constricted by the wide girth of the man’s dick still pumping down his throat. The man’s cum was hot and sticky coating his face, and the lack of air was making his head feel fuzzy, his whole body burning like pins and needles. He tried to push the man off, pleading desperately and unintelligibly around the thick length keeping him gagged.

“Easy,” the man panted, still keeping Peter’s mouth wrapped around his dick as he sat back, resting heavily on Peter’s much-smaller chest. Everything was starting to go dark; Peter was certain he was only moments away from passing out, when Quentin finally pulled him off his cock and let his head hit the pillow, then sat up, releasing the compression on his chest.

Every gulp of air burned his raw throat and chest as he greedily sucked it down. His face felt disgusting and his mouth tasted worse, but Peter could hardly be bothered to care as he desperately tried to get air back into his lungs. It didn’t help that Quentin started fucking petting him, like a dog, like he’d been a good boy for letting this man blackmail and abuse him.

He flinched when a gentle kiss was placed on his forehead, but not nearly as hard as he did when Quentin softly asked, “Now what do you say, Peter?”

He forced his eyes open, his eyelashes sticking together from the man’s cum drying on his skin. He was still heaving for breath, and honestly, his babysitter didn’t look much better.

“I gave you what you wanted, didn’t I?” the man prodded when Peter didn’t answer. “What do good boys say when they’ve graciously been given what they asked for?”

 _Fuck you,_ Peter thought, hate and humiliation burning his skin like liquid fire. He couldn’t keep the anger and disgust out of his voice as he forced himself to say, “Thank you, Mr. Beck,” especially when the man grinned down at him, looking smug and completely victorious.

“You’re welcome, my pretty little cumslut.” He kissed him again, on what felt like the only part of Peter’s face that was still clean. “Now I think it’s bedtime.”

He gaped in disbelief as the man rolled him onto his side and laid behind him, Quentin’s large, heavy arm wrapping around his waist and crushing him back against the man’s chest. “What are you - ”

“Shh,” Quentin shushed him, his lips brushing against the back of Peter’s neck as he spoke. “Get some sleep, kiddo. You have a long day ahead of you tomorrow.”

Peter didn’t know what that meant, but he certainly had no intention of waiting to find out. He held himself statue-still as he waited for Quentin to fall asleep so he could make his escape, but minutes dragged on into hours, and before long, Peter slipped into unconsciousness, without even realizing how tired he had been.

**Author's Note:**

> [richie's tumblr](https://mossystark.tumblr.com/)   
>  [ru's tumblr](https://send-me-your-hcs.tumblr.com/)


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